


Lyrical Monsters

by Morgondagar



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Dubcon By Virtue Of Magical Beings, Enthusiastic Consent, Monster of the Week, Monsterfucker, Multi, Succubi & Incubi, magical sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:41:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23880244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morgondagar/pseuds/Morgondagar
Summary: Jaskier accidentally finds himself fucking more and more non-human creatures, all to Geralt’s dismay.Porn with more plot than I anticipated. Will update sporadically.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 31





	1. Kisses of Sylphs.

**Author's Note:**

> Jaskier is a horny man, and I have decided he has no issues sexing up non-human beings. This is how that realisation came to be.

So. Things were not going according to plan, Jaskier would willingly admit. To be fair, he figured few people actually _planned_ on being magically fixed in position while three beautiful Sylphs masterfully undressed them and toyed with their body. But he was good at improvising and this was a predicament he could work with, he concluded, for the lithe hands and gentle touch was driving him up the walls with excitement and pleasure. 

Sylphs were drawn to beauty, he had heard somewhere. Probably from Geralt now that he thought about it; the man had few words to spare, unless rambling about his dear monsters and whatever discrepancies the villagers seemed to provide. One thing his dear Witcher had failed to mention about the sprites of the wind was just how beautiful they were themselves. Sure, most fae folk were beyond human beauty, able to show a unique visage to each human they encountered to enthral them specifically. The Sylphs were good. Jaskier sure found them beyond stunning. 

“Ngh-!” His body was trapped in a sitting position, his legs spread out before him and his nude back pressed into the warm body behind him. There was a fae to each of his sides, their knees just touching his outer thighs as they bent over his still form. At most, he was able to make strangled noises and vague pleas. Not that he needed to plead or direct them. They were experts at their job. 

The small hand gently stroking him in featherlight touches was joined by a warm mouth, taking him far down and ignited whatever part of him was yet to heat up. The throat felt almost nonexistent, not the familiar warm pressure or muscles working there way around his head. Jaskier would liken it to expensive silks draped over his manhood, gently stroking him into oblivion. The fae behind him pressed herself closer, her breasts soft and warm against his shoulder blades as her fingers travelled down his front. Her palms slid over his pecs, ribs, and upper stomach in soothing but lustful motions, only partially interrupted as one hand gently moved up again to play with his nipple, pinching and rolling it between the pads as a mouth rested on the shell of his ear. 

They spoke a language Jaskier could not understand, the airy noise sounding closer to that of a summer’s breeze than words. He wished to comprehend, to know what they said to him, but settled with the warmth growing in his guts as his peak grew closer. His lungs worked overtime to supply him with oxygen and the irony did not fall unnoticed. If anyone were to die from lack of air while fucked by wind fairies, bet your own arse on that man being Jaskier. 

The bard was no stranger to the loss of control, priding himself quite experienced in most areas of the sexual world, but the complete inability to as much as wiggle his hips, move a hand to cup his lover’s chest or leave sinful kisses along their neck was maddening. Inside of his brain he was screaming, begging for _more_ , but all he got was the slow, breezy strokes of his shaft, another hand cupping his balls and the mouth gently sucking him in and out of that blissful heaven. But Jaskier was nothing but persistent. He held on, slowly losing himself in the pleasure he was given and a hand from behind guided his head backwards. His brown hair pooled gently on the Sylph’s shoulder, his breath coming out in short bursts and uncontrollable moans. It was so slow, so completely encompassing and truly maddening. But it kept going and Jaskier made no effort for it to stop. 

After what felt like a decade in this heaven, the bard felt the coil in his abdomen grow tighter, his skin sweaty and pleasure growing. It was with a guttural growl that the coil snapped and he leapt over the edge, falling freely through the air as blinding white filled his vision. His blue eyes rolled back into his skull and the feeling was never-ending, his muscles twitching under the magical binding and brain firing off wildly. The only thing he had left under the influence of their magic was his brain, and now he had lost that as well. 

He came to it eventually, his pants loud and needy as he keened at the oversensitivity that tickled from within. As if reading his mind, not something that was entirely off the table and would need some research later, the lips slowly let his softening length fall out, the hand at his base being the only thing steadying it. He felt a soft kiss, lighter than the weight of a newly hatched dabchick, being pressed at the head of his cock, then a sweet mouth making love to his neck. Fingers petted his thigh slowly, playing with the dark hairs there as he melted completely into the afterglow of his orgasm. If he were to die now, Jaskier had no regrets. 

Then it all came to a stop in less than the turn of a second. The magic lifted his shackles and all warmth around him ceased just as quickly. As he fell back into the grass underneath him, his head and neck taking a mild blow from it, he heard those airy whispers already far behind him. Everything was too heavy, his arms not obeying him though what bound them had ceased and his brain thick and slow. Instead of trying to move, the bard sunk into the grass as he awaited his lungs to calm down and his head to stop spinning. 

“-skier? Fuck. Jaskier!” He opened his eyes with great resistance, taking a few seconds to focus on the man before him. The amber eyes were steady and thick brows furrowed deeply. Some of the strain left the face, though, as Jaskier came back to it, a tease of a smile twitching at the corners of those chapped lips. 

Geralt helped him up into a sitting position, his knees bent and arms supported on them. The bard quickly resigned to slumping most of his weight onto his legs, slowly craning his neck after a few minutes to watch the Witcher. 

“How are you feeling?” 

_That’s quite a good question_ , Jaskier decided. He was exhausted, beyond tired and utterly boneless. His appendages felt heavier than metal from the continuous strain he had exerted in attempts to move, his eyelids barely able to stay up. Yet he had never felt more relaxed in his life as his body floated above the grassy hill he was lying on. It was a real conundrum and Jaskier considered passing that onto his Witcher, maybe finding a mutual agreement to his wellbeing, but it was obvious he had wracked his brain too long around the question when Geralt actually opened his mouth once more. Even more evident of the fact was that the Witcher spoke not only a full sentence, but two.

”Do you feel feverish? Did they hurt you?”

Jaskier quickly shook his head, the movement not catching on as well as he hoped it would. It was sluggish and his vision fought hard to make sense of the world around him while his brain seemed quite content with being submerged in thick honey. He wondered what that looked like to the other, wondered if he looked like anything but a man lost on a drug trip. 

“No,” he said instead, voice rough and tired. He needed to sleep, badly. Perhaps he could rest his eyes for just a little bit? Geralt did not agree, instead taking his face in both of his hands to keep the bard’s eyes locked on his. Suddenly feeling small and helpless under that amber scrutiny, he elaborated in a thick voice. “No, Geralt. They were the most gentle lovers I’ve encountered, if I may admit it. Who knew a man aged in this business would like it lighter than a feather’s touch? Gods, you think they are still around?”

The sheepish grin on his face was not mirrored on the Witcher, instead he was met with stone cold seriousness and something few other humans would be able to discern. But Jaskier was different, he saw the faint shadow of worry upon the Witcher’s face. 

“No.” Geralt answered bluntly, no inviting Jaskier to keep on rambling. He nodded towards the other hills close by. “They fled when I came back.”

A twinge of sadness ran through the bard, but he was feeling more himself by the second, his head slowly growing clearer and body colder. Oh, right. He was naked as the day he was born, halfway up a grassy hill in the middle of a field, blissfully sated after he had been fucked by three sylphs. Yeah, okay, he could remember less dignified moments in his life, but this sure was up there. 

Jaskier felt his cheek grow red as he struggled out of Geralt’s hold, frantically searching for any fabric to cover himself up with. A large hand deposited a bunched up pile of clothes in his lap, the Witcher now stood up and turned the other way to lend the man some privacy. 

“We shall leave as soon as possible.” He informed. Jaskier assumed the hunt had gone successfully, considering the lack of blood and gore on the man’s armour. There was a weird feeling in the air and when Jaskier was stood up, fully clothed and proper, he looked back to where the other had said the fae had fled to. If he stretched his imagination, Jaskier was sure he could see the faint shimmer of their almost translucent skin in the sunlight. Yet, he turned to follow Geralt back to Roach. 

Something within him stirred as his eyes fell upon the monstrous head strung up to the side of the horse’s saddle. He couldn't place the feeling, but it was not the disgust or fear he would normally harbour to such sight. With a shrug the bard decided that was an issue to ponder when his head was not throbbing along with his pulse and his cock treacherously trying to do the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed it! Please leave a comment if you have the time, it truly makes this all worth it!
> 
> I have already planned out at least 15 chapters, and have ideas for even more, so remember to check in if you enjoyed!


	2. Impressions of a Succubus.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier does his best to come to terms with his newfound interests, then it’s all turned on it’s head as Geralt accepts a contract to rid a town of a local succubus.

Things turned out fine in the end, as they normally did for Jaskier. Geralt decided the matter of the sylphs were a rather easy target to poke fun at after a few tankards of ale and Jaskier happily indulged, revealing more and more details of the encounter until the Witcher dropped it with poorly hidden disgust written over his face. They had also gotten a hefty sum of coins for delivering the whaterver-Geralt-called-it head and so the day was in of itself a good one all things considered. 

The issue came around night time, as the sun set and the two abandoned the crowd at the inn for a good night’s rest. After towelling down the day’s filth with a damp rag each(having a bath drawn would have been an unnecessary expense considering neither of the two actually got any substantial grime to deal with) they got into their respective beds on each side of the room. The Witcher quickly fell into his usual meditative state, one Jaskier suspected he kept up until the bard was done twisting and turning for the evening, while Jaskier made his best attempt at emptying his head. 

Whenever he closed his eyes, he was drawn back to that hill. The well-deserved relaxation into the stuffy mattress only served to remind him of his body melting into the warm, soft frame behind him as his muscles were locked in place. His hair pooling on that narrow shoulder as his neck was exposed to sweet kisses. His own hand resting atop his stomach turned into the featherlight touches of the sylph’s, petting his skin soothingly while exploring the rest of his body. Jaskier found out that if he twisted his hips _just right_ he could feel their fingers gently stroking his length through his smallclothes, the straw poking out from the mattress grazing his bare legs like the grass blowing in the calm wind. Jaskier hitched a breath as his cock twitched, the memory making blood pool in his groin once more. 

“ _Sleep_ , bard.”

The rough voice to his side startled him, his body jerking as his eyes flew open. Fuck Witcher’s and their stupid enhanced senses, trust Geralt to ruin Jaskier’s little fantasy after a long, tiring day. He huffed out a response before turning over, this time forcibly shutting out his brain as he tried to fall asleep. It was stupid, the way his body and mind reacted to his encounter. He had just gone for a little adventure with some fae, what did it matter? How did it differ from any of his other mind-blowing lays? It didn’t, but his twitching dick was not convinced. 

After much internal arguing, which had turned into mental pleas and begging, his cock had settled down long enough for Jaskier to fall asleep. When he awoke the next morning, things were once again back to normal as their travels continued on. His boots trekked along the paths and his voice carried sweet serenades to what flowers and wildlife he saw, while Geralt grumbled along atop of Roach like he always did.

It was always during the nights that Jaskier struggled though. What he thought would be out of his head by the end of that eventful day stayed for the next week, his cock practically leaking as he forced himself to _not think about those damn sylphs, Jaskier!_ There was no doubt Geralt knew about it, though perhaps not exactly what the issue concerned, as he loudly exclaimed from his bedroll one night to just _”go jack off in a bush, damnit!”_ So Jaskier did. 

After a week of this hell, Jaskier simply came to terms with his defiance and made his move to accept it. He was just a humble bard who loved many, fae included apparently. It wasn’t as if it would be an issue down the line; it was rare for fae folk to let humans close to them and even rarer to do so if they were accompanied by a big, burly witcher. So who cared if Jaskier was into some magical beings? He would only have the fortune of meeting them once - twice at most - again anyway. No issue. It was all fine and dandy.

Relief washed over him in the wake of being able to accept his defiance, and seemingly his cock felt a little less compelled to take action if it was no longer a taboo subject to the man. The relief was short-lived though when the two put up camp close to a town plagued by a succubus.

Geralt had heard of the contract from the town over, a nice price put out for the demon to be banished, and the two were on their way in a few hours. The bard had not put much thought in it, they had dealt with sexual demons before without much fuss so there was no reason to think this would end differently. Jaskier sat himself down by the make-shift fire to guard their belongings as his friend ventured out in search for the succubus, the small trail to the bards back.

Left to his own devices, Jaskier took up his lute and strummed out some tunes, his fingers working the strings as his brain wandered. As per usual by now, it didn’t take him long to start singing out about the soft, translucent skin and breezy voices. Geralt had forbidden him to sing his more raunchy songs while travelling, but now the man was gone and the bard didn’t like following rules anyway. 

The lyrics slowly turned as the bard’s mind wandered, envisioning the succubus instead of the sylphs. They were beautiful, that’s how they trap you. Sweet words and supple breasts lure you in to prey on your lust only to cast you aside afterwards. The way people talked about the demons was pretty bad, most of it stemming from a defensive reaction to men’s wives accusing them of infidelity. Sure, they feed on your lust and cloud you head, but it was an equal affair. One’s lust for the other’s. 

With a heavy sigh, Jaskier put down his lute to take care of a more urgent matter currently residing in his breaches. He batted away the trickle of shame edging on his mind, closing his eyes. It was natural, he argued, succubi literally wants you to get all worked up and horny! He was but a man, so why would he hide his natural needs? 

Okay, maybe he was getting a little bit defensive over this whole thing as well.

“Oh, sweet thing. Don’t interrupt such wonderful lyrics!” 

Jaskier whipped his head around to find the source of that voice, the newly fallen dark making it a futile attempt. The fire before him was only casting so much light into the clearing, revealing but the closest trees and a nearby bush. If he squinted, he could make out the small trail Geralt had wandered off onto but a few hours earlier, but the voice came from the opposite direction. 

With the lute clamped into his hand, he rose to his feet. A woman entered his field of vision across the fire, an expensive looking robe covering most of her skin. Jet-black hair billowed down her shoulders and framed her round face, dark eyes twinkling in the yellow light as she slowly stalked closer. His arms rose to hold the lute in a defensive stance, hoping it would at least look somewhat intimidating to the stranger.

“Don’t worry your sweet mind, I have no desire to hurt you,” she purred, her plump lips quirking up in a smile as she looked at the wooden contraption in his hands. “Put that lute down, my dear. Then perhaps I will show you how to play another instrument.”

Jaskier stared her down, his eyes flickering from her face down to her amber skin. The robe had slipped a little, the action probably conscious he mused, and her slender legs were on display as well as her cleavage. His cock, that little treacherous bastard, showed it’s interest again at the display and Jaskier moved his beloved lute to cover himself. 

“Aren’t you an obedient one?” The demon’s movements were slow, deliberate and all around predatory. The bard’s heartbeat was up in his throat by the time she had rounded the campfire to get into his space. Oh, she truly lived up to the whispered rumours.

Jaskier was struck with the realisation that he wasn’t even too invested in her body, though he would admit it to be just to his liking the more her noticed it. Her breast were just big enough for his hands to cup them, his eyes wandering to the rolls of skin around her waist visible through the thin fabrics. But he couldn’t stop his mind as it kept thinking back to _what_ stood before him, a demon in all it’s rights. Somehow this mere thought made him feel even hotter all over, the palms of his hands clammy and his breath already laboured. Perhaps he was a truly deranged man?

Her hands were now grasping for his face, fingers petting his chin and hair slowly as she moved in closer. When did she get so close? Close enough to touch him? Her breath was hot against his and Jaskier could feel his heart almost bursting out of his chest when those lips pressed against his own. 

The kiss was gentle, her tongue slowly working it’s way into his mouth as she pressed herself closer. The hand not occupied by his chin trekked downwards to pull at the buttons on his doublet, slowly letting the fabric snake down his shoulders. Jaskier did not realise he had dropped his precious lute until his empty hands rose to feel at her skin, moving under the thin fabric covering her. 

It was with a delighted laugh that she dropped her robe all together, it sliding down in a gracious heap by her feet as she instead moved to work on the bard’s chemise. It slipped over his head quickly, their mouths back at each other’s in less than a second.

“Oh sweet gods,” he swooned, eyes falling open to take her in. His hands moved to cup at her breasts, weighing them in his palms as he let a moan escape his lips. Her smile was dangerous and sweet, a pleasure Jaskier vowed to indulge in further if he could help it. One of her hands abandoned his trousers to take hold of his wrist, slowly guiding his hand up to her mouth before taking two of his fingers in. The devilish tongue worked over his digits as he felt more clothes leave him, stepping out of the trousers on the ground. 

“Mhhm,” the demon hummed in delight, her eyes searching for his under thick, dark lashes. They were still glittering in the light of the fire, reflecting deep desire and lust that the bard knew he was mirroring.

Jaskier’s knees felt weak, limbs too heavy as he floated in a cloud of need. The succubus kept making obscene noises as she worked over his fingers, her eyes almost rolling back as if it was the best experience of her life. Few maidens in his days had let on such deep pleasure in bed. It was addictive to see her like this, her reactions so strong and beyond human. 

Making quick work of it, Jaskier managed to rid himself of his smallclothes as he later took hold of her waist, guiding her down with him. He didn’t remember slowly making their way over to the bedrolls, but his knees met the thick furs and he saw no reason to complain. With a sweet ‘pop’, the succubus let his fingers free, lithe fingers still grasping his wrist in order to manoeuvre him. Jaskier felt as if he was back to his early teens, a confused and worked up boy trying his best to understand the new world of pleasure he was thrust into. But the demon was considerate and slow, leading him downwards to gently stroke at her folds. His body trembled with desire as he felt his fingers gently breach her.

From there it was no going back; Jaskier working his digits in and out of her, stretching her body around his fingers as his length stood at full mast, gently tapping his stomach and leaving slick pre to bead in the hair there. It was more than wonderful, the demon’s body contorting around him as if there was nothing else that could ever compare, her low moans filling the air between them. 

“It’s enough, sweet one. I’m ready.”

Jaskier needed no more encouragement, instead quickly slid his fingers out of her to pump his cock a few times to spread his pre over the length. He had to clasp his hand around the shaft for a few seconds to stave off the way-closer-than-anticipated edge, but soon enough he was lining himself up and slowly thrust his way inside her body. The succubus practically purred as he worked himself in, hands grasping his shoulders. 

As far as Jaskier was concerned, he was currently in heaven. He built up his rhythm into a punishing pace, his own pants and compliments intermingling with the woman’s delighted moans.

“Fuck, you feel so good around me,” he whispered, mouth diving down to suckle at her neck. The skin felt soft and warm between his lips, his entire being consumed by the pleasure he was drowning in. “You will set me on fire like this, dear. You will kill a simple bard and ruin me! My body will be the proof-“

His voice cut off into a deep groan as her body clenched down around him as a warning, his back arching as he continued on the fast pace. It was maddening, the whole world around him faded and concentrated solely on the heat, the desire and the rush of his edge nearing. Her tongue once again made its way into his mouth, tasting him and opening him up to let out all the needy whines and grunts within him. 

“What’s your name, dear?” Jaskier felt himself grow close, his mind far away from anything but his own member twitching and rutting into the warm hole under him. “I want it to be the only thing on my lips as I reach completion.”

Other times, the bard would feel a twinge of irritation, sometimes even insecurity, from his bedmate letting out a genuine laugh as he fucked them. Yet, the sound was an aphrodisiac straight into his veins that edged him even closer, heat consuming his entire being.

“Lilsya,” she purred, her lips grazing his ear. Her voice sent vibration down his spine, reverberating down his entire being to pool in his groin. Those slender legs moved up to his waist, locking him in place as she pressed herself into the movements, pushing back onto his cock with every thrust. 

Jaskier tasted the name in his mouth, moaning loudly as he did. It was perfect, the only name he could think of. His mouth once again dove down to lap at her lips, kissing her roughly and with passion as the tightly-strung coil within him snapped. 

“Lilsya!” His back arched once more as his throat let out a long groan, the demon’s name on his lips as all he saw was white. In the back of his mind he registered Lilsya’s own orgasm, her body clamping down upon his length as he kept thrusting himself through his completion. The bard then collapsed next to her, his body spent and tired. He felt absolutely exhausted as he relaxed into the gentle hand stroking his arm.

“Leave,” snapped a rough voice behind them, Jaskier still too boneless and limp to even react.

“I will, Witcher,” sighed the woman next to him, her body quickly extracting itself from his as she moved to stand. Jaskier groggily followed her feet as she sauntered back to the fire, bent over shamelessly to pick up her robe and then made her way back. 

A growl from behind surprised Jaskier and he made an attempt at sitting up, stopped only by a gentle hand to his shoulder. It guided him back down, his body far from any condition to argue.

“Oh, let me at least bid the bard farewell, will you?” Lilsya was kneeling in front of his head, gently scooping his upper body up so his cheek rested upon her thighs. An impatient snarl came from the witcher, but she made no indication she as much as noticed it. Instead, her lips gently touched down upon Jaskier’s temple, her whispers gently lulling him. “Thank you, my sweet one. Rest easy.”

Fingers threaded themselves through his hair slowly, Jaskier’s eyes fluttering close as his pulse finally settled. It felt like he had run for miles on end, only now stopping to rest his sore muscles. Then he was moved once more, the plush, warm thighs substituted for a rougher pillow they kept along with their sleeping bags. He heard the light footsteps moving away, back into the dark forest beyond the campfire. 

“I thank you, Witcher. I assure you I will be of no trouble for the citizens if you spare me.” The way her voice wavered in the air broke something inside the bard, the almost inaudible fear within such a hated creature too much for a romantic as himself to bear. The affirmative huff from his friend eased the pain somewhat and Jaskier resigned into a deep slumber. 

————

Jaskier came to it as the sun rose above the trees, birds chirping above his head as he blinked the exhaustion from his eyes. All his muscles felt sore, his limbs boneless and his entire being at a lack of energy. It was akin to a deep-settled hunger that he had not felt in years since meeting his friend, his body fighting to keep trekking on as he was running on nothing. In less than a moment, he sensed a presence next to him, a heavy hand upon his shoulder stopping him from moving about too much.

“Stay down, Jaskier. For now.” The voice was laced with a clear unimpressed tone, the hand weighing him down. It disappeared for a few seconds to rustle around for something next to his limp body. For a few minutes, all he did was following the order, his body contorting to the soft furs under his chest. “If you can, drink this.”

When Jaskier opened his eyes he saw the small vial presented to him, a see-through concoction tinted ever so slightly pink. All he could do was letting out a huff of air from his lungs before trying his ever best to at least sit up enough to not choke. The hand was back at his skin, helping him along with what strength he did not have. It felt good and the bard made no effort to not let himself melt into the guiding force. 

The vial was held to his lips and gently tipped, giving Jaskier plenty of time to swallow down the potion. It tasted bland, with a weak tinge of bitterness to it. At least it was drinkable, compared to much else the witcher seemed happy enough to provide him. 

“It should be enough to get you to town,” Geralt mumbled, his hand still stuck to his back. Jaskier noticed the colours of the furs around him, too dark to be his own. So not only had he fucked a succubus instead of watching the camp, he had done so in Geralt’s own bed. Typical.

The bard groaned as the memories flooded back. The demon - _Lilsya_ , his brain happily provided with more pride than i earned - had truly gotten it’s fill on him. Geralt’s one-day-old warning about their species rang in his ears, how they fed on humans’ lust. Of course they had to drain _something_ , so now Jaskier was rendered as weak as a newborn babe. As the hand left his back, he surprised himself by keeping upright. The potion must be quick working then.

“I had to dilute some of my own stuff,” Geralt explained as if reading his mind. It felt like everyone but himself was able to do that nowadays. “You should be up by the time I have the camp packed down.”

It was with slow breaths and gentle movements that Jaskier finally managed to stand up, his clothes nicely folded next to his - _Geralt’s_ \- sleeping bag. He put them on with resigned effort, sighing and groaning when he felt it appropriate. As far as he remembered, the Witcher had not been too keen after finding the two, so why was he so... considerate all of a sudden? Jaskier truly did not understand the man.

It took only one word to shut down the bard’s attempts at hitching a ride on Roach and then they were off, travelling down the small path through the woods to return to the village. They were met by some of the inhabitants, moving out of their way as they entered. The heavyset man who had offered the contract, the man running the small town Jaskier assumed, met up with them, begrudgingly handing over a sack of coin to the witcher. 

“So it’s gone, then?” He asked while still clutching the bag, eyes narrowing in on Geralt as he studied the man. Jaskier hadn’t liked him when they first met and he sure didn’t enjoy the company now either. Thankfully, Geralt had a way of cutting conversations short. 

“Yes.” The witcher nodded. His eyes pierced Jaskier from Roach’s back, staring him down before returning to the man. Shame slowly crept up the bard’s back and he sunk down into himself, eyes glued to his feet. “It shall not bother you anymore.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed it! Feel free to drop any comments down below if you liked any particular part!


	3. Elven Charity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier wants to apologise, but Geralt is having none of it. Instead, the bard finds a new friend.

“I swear-“

“ _Jaskier!_ ” 

“I’m sorry, Geralt...”

“Go to sleep before I render you unconscious myself.”

“Is that a threat or a promise?”

———

The days weren’t as bad as they could have been. Geralt didn’t mention the mishap with Lilsya unless provoked, only occasionally making a snide comment on his expense when appropriate and Jaskier _could_ see the humour in the whole ordeal. So he laughed. But it didn’t stifle the shivers of shame and outbursts of guilt that washed over him in waves every once in a while. The bard had tried to apologise several times, all of them met with complete indifference and uninterested glares from the witcher as he would be cut short of his explanation. 

“I don’t need your statement,” Geralt huffed, his eyes bordering on a manic look as if he was ready to pounce the bard and throttle him if he tried again. “What is done, is done. You are no criminal.”

“So you _do_ turn into a poet when aggravated!” The bard let out a dismissive laugh to lighten up the mood, always quick to turn to humour in order to dispel any awkwardness he faced. It worked most of the time, except whenever he tried it on the witcher. In other words, it failed miserably and fell flat in the air as amber eyes pierced his very soul.

So he dropped it.

It wasn’t that he needed to apologise, Geralt had made it clear but an hour after their departure from town. Jaskier just wanted to. He had done something he wasn’t supposed to and it had obviously affected his friend even if he refused to admit it. The way his rough voice had snapped in the dark night, how he had waited not too far away for the demon to leave his bard alone. Not even to mention the fact Jaskier had meddled with his contract.

Maybe he thought Jaskier just as queer as he felt. A man of disgraceful taste who let his lust consume him to the point of letting himself bed even folk of non-human origin. He knew a vast majority of men would shake their heads at his bravados. 

The shame didn’t stem from his actions. No, succubi were purposely targeting humans to feed off of and the sylphs had hardly been his fault. The creeping sense of guilt came from how he had enjoyed himself so greatly, how his mind kept replaying those scenes and making him hot and bothered all over again. It was the way he wanted _more._

———

The two arrived late at night in the bustling city, both of them too tired to do much else but go straight to bed. Tight on coin after spending two weeks living off the last contract, they shared a single bed and promptly fell asleep as soon as their heads hit the pillows. 

Early the next day, Geralt found out about some local terror, Jaskier too invested in returning to his dreamscapes to listen as his friend put on his armour and sheathed his swords. _Bla bla bla, in the forest, bla bla bla, killed a man by the docks, bla bla bla, will be back tomorrow._ For being a stoic and cold witcher, the man surely could run his mouth at the crack of dawn. Jaskier simply nodded and hummed out an answer before turning over in bed, fast asleep by the time Geralt closed the door behind himself.

He woke up again at a more humane hour, the sun streaking his face from the window as the roads were filled with noise. Voices reached through the glass panes at the second floor, old men chuckling to themselves, a dog barking, and children running around and doing whatever children did. The bard sat up and stretched his arms out, his spine popping back into place as he sighed in relief before he rose up to get dressed. If Geralt would return on the day after this, then he had plenty of time to do some exploring of his own. The bustling city was too great a temptation to not indulge in.

From the depths of his leather bag, Jaskier fished out a clean outfit. The fabric was dyed a subtle fern, the green accented with several metallic rings held onto the clothing by white ribbons sewn into the fabric. He buttoned the doublet over his trousers and tightened the straps along his boots. Feeling properly presentable for a day out, Jaskier made his way downstairs. After some quick smalltalk with the innkeeper he landed a gig for the evening and feeling quite happy with himself, Jaskier ventured out for the day.

It wasn’t commonplace for Jaskier to find himself in a bigger city nowadays, the two mostly resigning themselves to the less travelled roads and villages forgotten by even the most meticulous cartographer. This was a nice change, he decided as he walked down the busy roads, a well deserved vacation for a hardworking bard.

After sharing his breakfast, or perhaps closer to lunch, with a particularly friendly maiden, he managed to get lost in the various shops and market stalls. Jams, honey, fresh vegetables and fruit, a set of very intriguing stings for his lute, and beautiful jewellery that reminded him of a simpler time. It was with a laugh he entertained some children with his lute for an hour before continuing on, snacking on a ripe, ruby red apple he got offered from an older lady selling them.

It was by accident he stumbled upon a seemingly vacant stall in a more forgotten part of the city, the architecture reminding him of the poorer alleyways of Lettenhove compared to the open and sunny marketplace he had found himself wandering earlier. The small figurines displayed on the wooden table were intricate and painted, carved from all sorts of mediums including wood, stone and clay. It was a particularly well-made clay bird that caught the bard’s attention and before he knew it, he was looking around for someone who could perhaps be in charge of the small business.

Finding no one, Jaskier simply picked up the little bird to examine it. The wings were thin, each feather carved into it with no details to be missed and it seemed to be true for the rest of the model. The tail had an opening, similar to its beak, and the bard was thrown back into his childhood. His grandma, Gods rest her soul, had presented him with a similar, albeit cruder, instrument at one of her visits. “ _It’s a whistle,_ ” she had explained, shaking the little figurine to reveal it’s insides to be filled with water. When she had blown into it’s tail, a bird’s song had rung out in the lavishly decorated reception hall, a younger Jaskier immediately grabbing at the clay bird to try it for himself. The weekend had been filled with laughter and twittering, the young boy cradling the small bird in his hands wherever he went. His mother had later thrown the bird into the ground, complaining about it’s insistent screeching keeping her up. The shattered pieces were left on the floor for their maid to clean up.

“It’s a wood warbler,” piped a voice in front of Jaskier, the bard so caught up in his own mind he hadn’t heard the man approach. With a panicked yelp, Jaskier managed to hold onto the small bird through the surprise. 

“Oh. Oh, I see!” Jaskier felt his lips twitch up at the corners as his gaze rose, the man now behind the stall sporting an apologetic smile as their eyes met. He was a bit shorter than the bard, his upper body draped in a thick, hooded robe. The hood was up, covering most of his hair except from some stray, brown locks that curled over his forehead. With a vague gesture, Jaskier showed him he was alright, explained that he was just wrapped up in old memories and had just been spooked by the other. It brought out a relieved sigh from the other before he leaned in, supporting his weight on his elbows upon the top of the table.

“They are most commonly purchased for children,” he said, nodding. “Though I see no reason for the younglings to be the only ones appreciating the music.”

Jaskier chuckled and agreed to him. Perhaps it was only a tactic to sell him his clay figurines, but the man was charming and Jaskier had no reason to not indulge in some pleasant conversations.

“They are sold at fifty,” the man continued, motioning towards a non-existing price tag. It was enough for Jaskier to consider the offer, but also enough for him to earn a reason to apologise to Geralt when he returned the next day. He sighed and looked down at the bird, nesting it in his hands.

“And there is no possibility to get a discount?” he asked, looking up from under his thick eyelashes with the best pout he could muster. It felt wrong to haggle an already reasonable price, but he truly wanted the little figurine, if only to see Geralt’s reaction as he blew out a tune from it. 

The man sighed in a friendly way, furrowing his brows as he pretended to look for an answer in the air above his head. After a few seconds of consideration, he rolled his eyes in false resignation and smiled.

“I could do thirty,” he offered, once again bending over the stall and resting his upper body against his elbows. The hood fell further down his head, obscuring most of his curly hair as it did. Jaskier smiled and pulled out his purse, the coins switching hands quickly. 

The man counted the coins a second time before tucking them into his own bag, smiling brightly at the bard as he did.

“It’s not often I get a customer around here,” he mused, gesturing to the empty roads around them. His hood feel even further down, almost obscuring his fair eyes as he shrugged. Jaskier agreed that it was a shame, indeed.

The two kept talking for a while, the man happily presenting his other works to the bard. It was a pleasant change to the usual witchers-don’t-talk situation he found himself in, the man proving to be quite a charming lad.

“Could I possibly repay you for your generosity?” Jaskier asked after excusing himself to leave. He had taken up the mans time enough for one day, he figured, and was quite excited to test his new instrument before Geralt returned. “In a... not so pecuniary way, that would say.”

“Your company has been quite enough, friend.” His lips quirked up in a smile as he spoke, waving dismissively at the other. 

With that Jaskier piped up, his hand reaching for his lute strapped to his back. He was good at company, quite splendid at it if he was allowed to say so himself.

“I’m a bard, you see! I landed a gig at an inn for tonight. You could swing by and we could share a drink.” Jaskier looked at the other expectantly. “I insist.”

A hearty laugh escaped the other’s lips as he studied the other for a moment, then once again acting as if the answer was swimming somewhere in the air for him to catch and reel down. 

“Sure,” he said after a while. “Just give me the name of the inn and I’ll come by if I have the time.”

The two exchanged names and fleeting goodbyes as the bard filled with anticipation. He was known to make friends wherever he went, but rarely did he feel giddy afterwards, his insides fluttering as he knew they would meet once more. _Riavor_ was his name, and Jaskier tasted it long in his mouth before making his exit apparent. 

He left the alley with a mock bow before twirling around, walking away with a newfound sense of pride. Not only had he scored a hefty discount on a beautiful piece of workmanship, he had also managed to get some company for the evening and another person to join the audience for tonight. He felt giddy as his feet carried him across the marketplace back to the inn.

After a lot of consideration, the bard decided on his attire as he munched on some bread, swallowing it down with a herbal tea stirred with honey. It was important to keep his throat in condition, especially so considering he hadn’t gotten a solid performance in for a few weeks. Perhaps he could even make back what he spent on the figurine, the bird perched on the nightstand for him to glance over at every once in a while. 

After his usual voice warmups, Jaskier descended the stairs again with his lute strapped to his shoulder. He smiled warmly at a lady passing him on his way down before swaggering over to the bar. He greeted the innkeeper hastily, asking if he was free to start and with a jerky nod, Jaskier took the stage.

Okay, it wasn’t as much a stage as it was just two tables he quickly pushed together and jumped up on, bowing ceremoniously before presenting himself. Some of the patrons rolled their eyes, huffing out comments between themselves, too low for Jaskier to make out, but the overwhelming majority seemed to perk up at his announcement, a table at the back clapping in anticipation before he even struck his first chord.

It was a good crowd all things considered. After a few songs he got hauled a tankard of watered down ale and several rounds of applauds. The more drunken visitors stomped along to the rhythm and belched out his lyrics to their best abilities, laughing among themselves whenever they skipped a verse or missed a word. It was towards the end of the evening that the door opened once more, a hooded figure standing by the entrance. The warm light from within illuminated his light brown curls, the fair eyes sparkling in the flickering fire to his left. Jaskier quickly shot him a smile and a wink before continuing on, his song reaching it’s crescendo.

After a few more songs to end his repertoire, Jaskier bowed deeply to the crowd, his lungs heaving for air and rushes of adrenaline crashing over him in waves. The cheers and applause followed him off his make-shift stage and his eyes searched eagerly for his former acquaintance as hands dunked him on the back and lithe hands grazed his hips. 

After a venture to the bar for two tankards of spirits, Jaskier managed to locate the hooded man, his fair eyes studying him from the far corner. The familiarity was not lost of Jaskier as he stalked over, fond memories of the day he met his fated travelling companion contrasting in the best ways with his current situation. He leaned against the support beam to greet the man much like a young bard with bread in his pants had approached the witcher a few years back.

“I see you found time to share a drink with a humble bard?” Jaskier sat down across from the man, sliding the dubious drink over the table before tasting his own. He had gotten pissed on worse, he decided and downed another mouthful. 

“Wouldn’t miss it for anything,” Riavor chuckled, eyeing the tankard before him and took a whiff. His nose scrunched up for a moment before he shrugged, bringing the drink to his lips. “Though I wouldn’t call your earnings ‘humble’, if the pouch on your hip is to be believed.”

Jaskier let out a genuine laugh at his remark, rolling his eyes. The two resigned to pleasant conversations and a few more drinks before it turned elsewhere, Jaskier not all too subtle with his winks and words after the spirit made his core heat up and inhibitions crumble. 

Riavor seemed eager enough, leaning in to whisper his own obscenities from time to time before taking a good swig of his drink. By the time the inn cleared out for the day, the two stumbled upstairs far less graciously than any of them would admit, Jaskier all but giggling as he lead them down the hallway to his room.

As soon as the door closed behind the two, the bard was pressed up against the wall by the shorter man, his fingers grasping at his shirt as the thin lips mouthed at his neck. Jaskier sank into the touch, his own hands slowly wandering the man’s arms and torso for some leverage. 

His hands managed to slip under the other’s shirt, fingers mapping out his skin as Jaskier threw his head back with a moan. Teeth started to nibble at his pulse, one of the hand fisted in his doublet moving downwards to palm at his crotch.

“Fuck,” Jaskier exclaimed, sighing as he trust up into the touch. He heard an amused chuckle in his ear, the hand pressing down firmly before grasping his length through his clothes. 

A lustful moan filled the air around them as Jaskier’s mouth fell open, his eyes rolling back into his head for a moment as the pleasure shot up through him. In a less dignified move, Jaskier humped himself against the hand, his hips working overtime to chase the pleasure he so desired. He would later blame his juvenile actions on the alcohol, now too enraptured by the pleasure and need to change his approach. As his breath trembled out of his throat, the pressure ceased, a whine escaping the bard as he shot the other an accusatory look.

Instead, the man sunk down to his knees, nimble fingers quickly unlacing his breaches and helping Jaskier to rid himself of his confines. His smallclothes joined the small heap on the floor, the bard kicking it all off along with his shoes. The warm hand slick with Jaskier’s own pre quickly grasped his cock, the cold air barely having time to hit it before a tongue lapped at his head. 

Most of the time Jaskier had no issues taking his time, caressing his lover’s body from head to toe with his lute calloused fingers and the flick of his tongue. He enjoyed his bedmate’s wanton moans as he sucked down on a perky nipple, working his hand over their body while staving off his own release. Today was different, Riavor’s lips stretched over his length as gentle moans reverberated down his shaft. It was drunken, desperate and _just right_. 

Jaskier rocked his hips into the warmth, hands coming up to grip at the other. The hood was still on, in the way of his feeble hands attempt as some leverage. Somehow it was dirty, Riavor fully clothed while the bard had nothing to cover his lower half, the mere thought making his cock twitch inside the talented mouth. It was with a gentle tug to the fabric that he snaked his hands underneath, ever an artist as he deciding he liked the scene before him too much to simply chuck the hood off for his own convenience. 

Riavor’s breath hitched as Jaskier gripped his locks, guiding his mouth over himself as his hips thrust in tandem to his light tugs. Letting his head fall back, the bard took what he could get and drowned in the pleasure as he felt his edge nearing and passing in the span of a few seconds. The tight heat pulled away as his peak hit, warm hands instead stripping his cock quickly as Jaskier’s moans filled the room. Daring to take a peak, he saw the man’s face getting painted in his spend, his tongue darting out to catch what landed over his swollen lips. 

“Shit,” Jaskier wheezed, the sight making his sensitive cock twitch as it softened in the other’s grip. His legs felt like jelly, the bard only supported by the wall behind him and the hand fisted around his cock. With muddled vision he followed Riavor’s hand where it left his skin, travelling down to palm himself through his trousers. Judging by the obvious tent under his fingers, it had been quite a scene for him as well.

“I need you.”

Jaskier surprised himself with how wrecked he sounded already, how frail his wavering voice came out from his throat. His composure normally lasted him longer, Jaskier cursing the bulge stretching the other’s pants thin for his sudden breathlessness. Knowing what a member the other worked on, it would be a sin to not have it inside him at his earliest convenience, thank you. Riavor seemed to agree, letting out a fevered groan at his words and rose up to his feet, casting his eyes around the room until he found the bed to continue this in. 

It was a relief to have the nimble fingers closing around his wrist to guide him through the room, Jaskier unsure if his mind was strong enough to not just drop down where the two were stood to get the man inside him. With a gentle push, his back landed easily on the mattress, hands quickly unbuttoning his doublet and helping him rid himself of his chemise. 

The cold air had the bard feeling tiny under Riavor’s gaze, his body still fully clothed and looking ready to leave for the night as he was. Except for his rock hard member tenting his breaches, of course. With ease, Jaskier sat up as the other kneeled on the bed, trying his best to work the buttons on his cloak and shirt at the same time. The affectionate chuckle from the man in front of him made him slow down, accepting the help as he cursed whatever the bartender had provided them. It was sure to had been cheap, the foul taste still lingering in the back of his throat. 

Finally the fabrics slid of the other, revealing tanned skin littered with freckles and a working man’s scars. Jaskier let out a pleased hum as he was momentarily captivated by the other’s beauty, leaning down to kiss his pec with gentle lips. He saw the man working on his lower half, quickly kicking his clothes off the bed to join the rest of their garments in a messy heap on the floor. 

When Jaskier tried to move back, lavishly spread himself over the bed to put on a show for the other as he worked himself open, he was met with resistance. A hand held to the back of his head and pressed Jaskier against the tanned shoulder, hoisting him up further on his knees while kicking his legs open with his knee. Familiar fingers gently prodded his entrance, so Jaskier simply leaned into the touch and let Riavor work his magic, never one to turn down charitable offers like these.

And magic it was, the spit slick digits opening him up in gentle but quick strokes, scissoring his hole to make space for his length. Jaskier bit back moans as he mouthed at the nape of the man’s neck, sucking and biting light marks into the dark skin. A third finger joined in, the bard wracking his brain trying to remember how they got so far so quickly, but the thoughts lost when Riavor brushed over his prostate, shivers running down Jaskier’s spine as he groaned obscenities into his skin.

“I’m ready- fuck... i believe I will die an unsatisfied man if you do not enter me now!” Jaskier panted as the grip on his hair loosened, the bard gently guided onto his back. His eyes were closed as he felt himself relax into the mattress once more, fingers slipping out of him before tugging at his cock in quick motions. 

“You really are needy, bard,” Riavor stated, a fond tone to his words. Jaskier opened his eyes to send him a dirty glare, to inform him that _he was indeed the man jerking him off and fingering him to oblivion and back while he needed his length inside him, dammit._ Instead he was left with a dumbfounded expression and words stuck to the back of his throat, eyes focusing in on the man’s face.

Or ears, to be exact.

 _Of course_ Jaskier had managed to find himself a rouge elf in the city, invited him to watch him peacock around the inn as he sang raunchy songs and then served him drinks. Who else on this god forsaken continent would end up in bed with an elf mere weeks after sticking his cock inside a succubus and being jerked off by faes? Fuck, Geralt would kill him.

Before he managed to dwell any deeper on his current predicament, his thoughts were thrown out of the window, kicked away from the lights cast from inside and drained down into the sewers below as he felt the tip of Riavor’s head breach his entrance. A guttural moan was ripped from his throat and his hands shot out to grip at the man’s - _elf’s_ \- shoulders. To hell with Geralt, Jaskier thought, he was finally getting that cock inside of him.

Riavor rocked back and forth, slowly working his length inside the bard as his lower lip was caught between his teeth. The slide was pleasant and the stretch just enough to make Jaskier’s thigh tremble in anticipation, just bordering on the pleasant side of pain the bard liked. After a minute the other was fully seated inside of him, throwing his head back as he groaned.

“Gods, you’re tight...” He ground his hips down, Jaskier sensing the other’s willpower dwindling as he stayed as still as he could to let the other grow accustomed to the stretch, twitching occasionally with need. It sent a strangled chuckle from the bard, his own hips thrusting back against the intrusion to encourage the other. As if he was in any condition to _wait_ for a good fuck at the moment. Perhaps if he had been more sober, but now he was beyond ready to selfishly take what Riavor had to offer.

His administration seemed to send the message quite well, the elf bucking into the heat as he locked their eyes together. Jaskier was sure he mirrored the lustful haze in his own blue eyes, smiling brokenly as he panted. The other pulled almost all the way out, the tip only connecting the two for a brief moment before sinking back in, his hips stuttering at the glide and friction. The two shared a heated moan, the speed between the bodies picking up quickly.

It was easy enough to let his grip on the other’s shoulders loosen, hooking his arms around his neck instead to pull the elf down for a filthy kiss. Wasting no time, Jaskier lapped at his lips, begging to be let inside and deepen the feverish press of lips. 

Riavor must truly had been holding out, Jaskier concluded when he felt the other’s hips stutter once again, this time picking up a haphazard pace while chasing his release after only a few minutes. One of his hands were planted to the side of the bard’s face, the other now snaking down between their bodies to grip his length that had been futilely searching for friction between the press of their abdomens. 

The slick hand provided Jaskier enough pleasure to arch up, moving away from the kiss in order to let out a whine, unsure he would even manage to hold himself long enough for the elf to finish. His whines turned into needy gasps, begging the other for nothing in particular but to go _faster, harder, more._ With a sneer, Riavor complied, his pace bordering on painful in just the right way as he fucked himself inside Jaskier’s body. 

“Jaskier, I’m-...” Riavor made a move to pull out, his hips snapping into the other for the last needed friction. With lightning reflexes he didn’t know he stilled possessed under the influence, Jaskier’s thighs moved from where they were splayed wide to grip the elf’s waist, using his last strength to keep the man inside him. The idea seemed to go over well, Riavor ducking his head to his shoulder as he bit down, a scream ripped out of his throat as he fucked himself through the high of his orgasm. 

He ungodly thrusts were well aimed, hitting Jaskier’s prostate on each slide as he punched the bard’s release out of him, fingers still stripping his cock between their bodies in quick motions. Heat flooded Jaskier’s senses as he succumbed to the pleasure, his body going rigid as he spent himself over their skin. 

It was a long, stretched out moment where the two came back to themselves, chests heaving and muscles lax. Riavor rolled over to his side, sliding his softening length out of the bard in the same, gracious movement. His seed slowly leaked out of Jaskier’s entrance, the feeling just as intoxicating as it had been his first time; the slick slide of fluids along his thighs as the hard edges faded into a soft, cotton filled afterglow. 

Jaskier’s eyes fell closed, his body spent and useless against the stuffed mattress as their breathing slowed down into a manageable pace. He felt an arm creep over his skin, hugging his waist against the warm, safe body next to him. Jaskier let himself be held, the heat lulling his mind as the night’s drinks finally caught up. 

———

He did not remember falling asleep like that, but he was rudely reminded as the door to his room slammed shut, Riavor shuffling next to him for a second before biting back a surprised sound.

“Shit.” The warm presence next to him disappeared faster than Jaskier’s mind managed to make out, the bard quickly sitting up despite the thundering headache to see what was going on. 

_To hell with Geralt,_ had sounded like a good plan a few hours back when he was getting his brain fucked out by a handsome elf, but staring the witcher down as his lover leapt into his clothes and darted out of the room proved his thoughts to have been... perhaps a bit naïve. 

“Oh, you are... back early...” Jaskier noted the darkness that still filled the room, the morning far from about to breach the sky. Shit, even if he had been back well after dawn, the witcher would have caught the other. Jaskier cursed all liquor the inn had stored behind it’s bar.

“We need to have a talk.” It was no suggestion, but a direct order as the other rid himself of his armour. He pulled out his bedroll in a quick motion, making a silent statement on just how he felt about sharing a bed smelling of nothing but Jaskier’s nightly adventure. Not even shoving the young man out of his room by the end of the ordeal would have saved Jaskier the embarrassment, he realised as he groaned over his own idiocy. 

Without saying anything else, Jaskier rolled over on his side, hoping that perhaps some gruesome monster would invade to kill him, and only him, before dawn broke and he would have to face the witcher’s disappointment for real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is tagged as monsterfucker, but mostly in the sense of Jaskier fucking non-human beings. I am not claiming Elves to be monsters.


End file.
